The World According To Ben Part 19 ...Fuel By Car Lust and Warm Winters Day Our Poet Super A Mundo B

“Would-Be Car Thrills Under An Unexpectedly Warm February Sun”

(A Triple Sonnet)

A local kid growls ’round in STI, A silver-speedy-macho sort of thing. There’s something on the trunk that towers high As Rushmore. I believe it’s called a “wing.”

Ah, yes. At speed, it shoves the back end down. Thus, better traction while the broad hood scoop Sucks in the atmosphere and gulps it down. Meanwhile, huge tailpipe sounds like car has croup.

Nevertheless, he does his spring-day thing (Although, today, spring’s still a whole month off). His tires screech loudly as that car he flings Right past our house. The vapors make me cough.

And, yes, I should be pissed off, grouchy, grim… But I’d do the same damn thing were I him.

My car lust keeps me young. No… immature. My inner teen would drive quite stupidly Were it not for my rider, who makes sure That I, her spouse, do motor tenderly,

So as to avoid kids and straying pets… So as to avoid undecided squirrels Who back-and-forth as I approach. It gets To be a contest: gas, brake, steering whirls —

The wheel a friction burn in my left hand— As I stir up the six-speed with the right. And yes, I miss the squirrel just as I planned. It dashes up the curbside full of fright

I thought that was exciting. How ’bout you? Who needs to drive a souped-up Subaru?

So anyway, off we go. Down the hill. Across the valley. Past the Amish farm. The scenery provides a subtle thrill. The sunlight through the windows keeps us warm.

“This car sure needs a bath,” I grimly mutter. Fiesta STs look their best when bright, Not crusted with road dust but smooth as butter. We pause for flocks of tourists at the light

At crossroads of North Cedar and East Main. Please witness: pedestrian tyranny. Visitors do what they will; that is plain. Four red-to-greens before we motor free…

Head out of town… find favorite straightaway. Gas pedal down! She smiles, nods. Time to play!